


won't you listen to the man who's loving you

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not supposed to stop being my best friend just because you’re someone else’s boyfriend now!” he cries, and he means to sound angry, to sound <i>livid</i>, because he is, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that he’s got his face smushed against Combeferre’s chest, his words muffled against Combeferre’s sweater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't you listen to the man who's loving you

The situation is probably really weird for Combeferre, but Courfeyrac honestly can’t find it in himself to care right now, because this is the first time in edging three weeks that he’s had Combeferre to himself.

“Courf?” Combeferre says, and his voice is gentle, like he’s confused, like he’s not sure why Courfeyrac is acting like this, like he’s not quite sure what to do or what he’s done, and that’s what breaks Courfeyrac.

“You’re not supposed to stop being my best friend just because you’re someone else’s boyfriend now!” he cries, and he means to sound angry, to sound _livid_ , because he is, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that he’s got his face smushed against Combeferre’s chest, his words muffled against Combeferre’s sweater.

Combeferre stills against him, almost as if he’s surprised, and he really needs to start giving Courfeyrac more credit; how could he think that Courfeyrac would miss his best friend starting to date? 

“Courf,” Combeferre starts, still in that gentle voice.

Courfeyrac doesn’t really want to hear it. “Shut up,” he says. “Shut up and just stay here and let me pretend that I still have my best friend for like five fucking minutes.”

“Courf,” Combeferre says again, more insistent this time, because Combeferre has never been good at following instructions. “Courfeyrac, I’m not dating Eponine.”

And oh, oh, that hurts even more, because Courfeyrac would understand why Combeferre would choose to spend more time with Eponine instead of him if they were dating, but if Combeferre just doesn’t really want to be his friend anymore… Combeferre has been his _best friend_ for years now, and he can’t just stop being Courfeyrac’s friend. He _can’t_. 

Combeferre’s hands rub over Courfeyrac’s back. “She’s been helping me with a problem,” he confesses. 

“A problem,” Courfeyrac echoes, and he’s clearly not convinced, and Combeferre can obviously tell, because he pulls away from Courfeyrac, and sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

He meets Courfeyrac’s eyes almost reluctantly. “The thing is,” Combeferre says slowly, hesitantly, “I have a crush on someone, and Eponine has been sort of talking me through it.”

Courfeyrac blinks at that, and finds that he is inexplicably hurt by that too. “Why didn’t you come to me? You know I’m good with things like that.” His chest clenches tightly when Combeferre looks away from him. “Do you not trust me?” he asks, alarmed. 

“No!” Combeferre is quick to reply. “That’s not it. God, Courf, of course I trust you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Courfeyrac asks.

“I wasn’t quite sure what it was, if we’re being frank,” Combeferre says. “And I didn’t tell Eponine either. She sort of figured it out herself, and it felt good to be able to talk to someone about it, so I did. I have been. And she’s been very helpful at giving me insight to the situation.” He swallows. “I’m sorry we haven’t been spending much time together,” he says, earnest. “I’ve missed you to, for what it’s worth.”

“You’d better have,” Courfeyrac mutters, because it’s a relief to hear that Combeferre hasn’t been ignoring him because he doesn’t want to be his friend anymore. He sighs, and then looks at Combeferre. “Can I hug you again?”

Combeferre cracks a smile at that and opens his arms. 

—

It is much later, when they’re both walking on the street, huddled close because the evening wind is strong and it is freezing, that Courfeyrac remembers to ask. “Oh hey, so who is this person you’re having a crush on?” 

Combeferre almost trips, and Courfeyrac is laughing when he steadies Combeferre. Combeferre shoots him a dirty look.

“Just for that,” he says, “I’m not going to tell you.”

“Ooh, does this mean that I get to guess?” Courfeyrac asks, grinning. “Is it Enjolras?” he starts with, because Combeferre sees Enjolras as a brother, and he is just about the least likely candidate. “Because I know the both of you aren’t actually related, but it feels incestuous.”

Combeferre just gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how that wasn’t a denial,” Courfeyrac says, and bumps his shoulder against Combeferre. “Wait, is it Marius? You said Eponine noticed, and well, she’s got quite a bit of practise with it herself, so she would definitely be able to see through you.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes. “You’re not even trying to get it right, are you?”

“Okay, a serious guess this time,” Courfeyrac says, looping his arm through Combeferre’s. “I’m a good guesser. Give me some time and I’ll figure it out.”

Combeferre hums, disbelieving. 

Courfeyrac assess the situation — to his knowledge, up till three weeks ago, Eponine and Combeferre haven’t really been hanging out together outside of Les Amis meetings, so the person Combeferre is having a crush on is more likely to be one of them than not. Eponine probably wouldn’t have been staring much at Combeferre, so it must be Combeferre’s crush that she’s on better terms with, and hangs out with more, so that leaves Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Grantaire. 

He thinks about it, _really_ puts his mind to it as he ticks them off on his fingers, and settles on the most likely candidate, and he’s so sure that he’s right this time, because Combeferre is steadily going red at the look of concentration on Courfeyrac’s face, and Combeferre must know that he’s worked it out. 

“Oh, Combeferre,” Courfeyrac says, and stops walking to pull Combeferre in a hug. “ _Combeferre_.”

Combeferre laughs a little at that, nervous. “You worked it out?” 

Courfeyrac nods. “I did,” he says evenly. And then breaks into a wide grin. “It’s wonderful! Grantaire is brilliant, and he’s so funny, and so smart, and wow, I’ve never really thought of the two of you as a couple before, but now that it’s in my head, _wow_.” He pets Combeferre on the back. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Combeferre stares at him, and doesn’t say anything.

“Well, surely you’re going to do _something_ ,” Courfeyrac says, and tugs on Combeferre’s hand, urging him to start walking again, because they’re about a block away from the restaurant they’ve chosen to have dinner at, and he really wants to get out of the cold. “What did Eponine tell you to do?”

Combeferre is very, very quiet. 

Courfeyrac bumps their shoulders together. “Are you getting distracted thinking about Grantaire?” he asks.

There is something strained about the way Combeferre smiles, but Courfeyrac chalks it off as Combeferre being uncomfortable about talking about his crush on Grantaire, and allows the silence between them to stretch out for a little. No matter; Courfeyrac is going to be as helpful and supportive as he can manage to be on this, and Combeferre will soon have no problem coming to him to talk about his relationship troubles. 

—

Courfeyrac picks up the conversation after the waitress has taken both their orders. They’re sat at their regular table at their favourite Indian restaurant in the neighbourhood, and it’s a quaint, comforting establishment. Courfeyrac doesn’t even really like Indian food, but Combeferre likes it enough for the both of them, really. 

“So,” Courfeyrac says, and Combeferre groans.

“Do we have to talk about this?” Combeferre asks, looking a little pained. 

“We don’t _have_ to,” Courfeyrac tells him, frowning a little, because he’d honestly thought that Combeferre would be more comfortable about sharing with him. “I mean, I’d like to know more, but we don’t actually have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He brings up his best smile. “I just want to be here for you, and to make sure that you know you can tell me anything.”

Combeferre is quiet for less than half a minute. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s working,” he tells Courfeyrac. He sighs. “Eponine says I should do something about it,” he finally relents. “I disagree with her assessment.”

Courfeyrac frowns. “Of course you should do something about it!” Courfeyrac says. “Are you afraid he’s going to say no?”

Combeferre meets his eyes, and his smile is thin when he says, “Terrified, really.”

Courfeyrac reaches across the table to cover Combeferre’s hand with his own. “You don’t have to be,” he tells Combeferre. “You’re _amazing_. Grantaire would be lucky to have you. And at any rate, knowing would be a lot better than not knowing, wouldn’t it?”

Combeferre turns his hand over to squeeze Courfeyrac’s fingers. “You really think I should do something about it?” he asks.

Courfeyrac nods. “I think you should tell him.”

“How would you do it?” Combeferre asks.

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Grantaire might not look the part, but he’s a huge sap at heart. I think he’ll appreciate a well-worded speech about why you like him. But you won’t want to overdo it, though, or he might feel overwhelmed.” He pauses, and thinks it through. “No, wait, you know what? He doesn’t do surprises well. You’re probably going to have to ease him in. Have you tried hinting to him that you have feelings for him?”

Combeferre seems to consider the answer. “Is that how you’d like someone to tell you, if they were planning on confessing to you?” he asks. 

He seems genuinely curious at that, and Courfeyrac figures that in light of all the things Combeferre has told him today, he can afford to satisfy whatever curiosity Combeferre has. 

“It might be,” he says, and crooks a grin. “I like the idea of being eased into it, but I’ve been told that I’m really quite bad at parsing out hints.” Combeferre looks thoughtful at that, and Courfeyrac nods. “Grantaire is a little bit like that too. When you tell him, and you _definitely_ will, if Eponine and I have anything to do with it, you’re going to have to be quite specific about it.”

“I suppose,” Combeferre says, and sidesteps Courfeyrac’s next question by asking him about the mock trial he had to participate in for his criminal law class. 

The rest of dinner goes by in relative ease, and Combeferre looks to be more comfortable now that they aren’t talking about Grantaire, which Courfeyrac totally understands. It can be quite difficult to talk about crushes, and it’s probably even worse for Combeferre, because Combeferre is talking to _him_ about it, and he knows he gets too excitable sometimes, and is often too eager to help. He suddenly really gets why Combeferre would prefer talking to Eponine about it; she seems like she would be the kind of person who would just _listen_ , and speak only when it’s really necessary to give some form of advice. 

She’s like Combeferre, in that aspect. Combeferre really does the bulk of the listening in their friendship, and that is definitely one of the reasons why Courfeyrac has missed him so much the past few weeks.

He interrupts Combeferre in the middle of his story about getting locked-in in the library last night. 

“Hey, ‘Ferre,” he says, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever said this in actual words, but I’m really glad you decided to be my friend that day in kindergarten.”

Combeferre is clearly startled by the change in conversation, but he manages to smile at that. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” he teases. “You picked me out of a group, barrelled into me, and decided never to let go.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “It was a good koala impression, though. The _best_. Say it.”

“It was a good koala impression,” Combeferre allows, finishing up the last of his pad thai.

Courfeyrac beams at him. “One more thing,” he says. He waits till he has Combeferre’s full attention before he continues. “You’re still going to have to be my best friend even when you start dating, yes?”

“Courf,” Combeferre says, and he suddenly looks very serious. “The thing is-” he trails off, and Courfeyrac waits for Combeferre to continue, but all he does is to sigh. “I can promise you that’s not going to be a problem,” he ends up saying, which doesn’t appear to be what he was originally going to say.

There is something fishy going on here. Courfeyrac can feel it, but if Combeferre wants to tell him in his own time, Courfeyrac can be okay with that.

—

That Thai restaurant is one of the places they frequent for dinner because it’s right in between both their apartments, and they generally just say goodnight at the door, and leave in opposite directions, but Combeferre distracts Courfeyrac with a story about Bossuet trying to sneak coffee into the lab for Joly and tripping on a shelf and breaking pipettes, and starts walking him home.

Courfeyrac is calling shenanigans, but he’s definitely not complaining about it, because spending time with Combeferre always feels great, and maybe, just maybe, Combeferre has missed Courfeyrac just as much as Courfeyrac has missed him.

The thought sparks a warm tingle in his chest, and he allows the gesture to go by unmentioned.

—

“Combeferre?” Courfeyrac says when Combeferre slides into the seat next to him in the lecture theatre. “What are you doing here?”

Combeferre shrugs, and passes Courfeyrac a cup of coffee. “I have a free hour. It was either this or spending it in the library.”

“You _always_ choose the library,” Courfeyrac says.

Combeferre smiles, and the lecturer has just dimmed the lights, so Courfeyrac can’t really tell if the blush that he’s seeing on Combeferre’s face is just a trick of the light. “Well, today I felt like choosing you instead.”

Courfeyrac has a very sudden urge to hug Combeferre, but he refrains from it. “Are you going to make yourself helpful, and take some notes for me too, then?” he asks, and hopes that he doesn’t sound as happy as he actually feels, because it’s probably really pathetic to feel this happy just because his best friend wants to spend time with him.

Combeferre pulls his notepad out of his bag. “What is this class on again?”

Courfeyrac laughs, and has to apologise when someone turns around to shush him. 

—

 **From: Combeferre**  
Are you free tonight? I accidentally bought an extra ticket to a movie tonight.

 **To: Combeferre**  
Sure. Which movie?

 **To: Combeferre**  
But wait, have you tried asking Grantaire? :)))

 **To: Combeferre**  
????

 **From: Combeferre**  
I’m not sure that’s going to be a good idea.

 **To: Combeferre**  
:( 

**To: Combeferre**  
Oh, I get it! You want to take things slow. Which is v smart, especially when you’re dealing with Grantaire.

 **To: Combeferre**  
So which movie?

 **To: Combeferre**  
And can we please get dinner before? I haven’t eaten since breakfast with E at 7.

 **From: Combeferre**  
It’s barely 2 now. Do you need me to send you food? Where are you?

 **To: Combeferre**  
L2 @ library. You’re my favourite. LOVE YOU!  <3

 **From: Combeferre**  
I’ll be there soon. 

**From: Combeferre**  
I love you too. x

—

Courfeyrac is midway through writing his closing paragraph for a Jurisprudence essay when Combeferre slides into the seat opposite him, and it’s routine enough that Combeferre joins him in the library on Wednesday afternoons that Courfeyrac doesn’t even bother to look up until he’s finally finished his first draft of the essay.

Combeferre smiles at him, and it’s weird that Combeferre hasn’t already pulled out his books and notepads, before pushes the bunch of daffodils before him towards Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac squints at him. “Is it Daffodil Day?” he asks. “I could’ve sworn I read that it was next week.”

“It is,” Combeferre assures him. “I just saw some on my walk to uni, and thought to buy some, because you like daffodils, right?” 

Courfeyrac smiles at him. “Of course I like daffodils,” he says, and then has a lightbulb moment. “I just thought of a really great idea. Do you know what it is?”

“Donating to the Cancer Society?” Combeferre asks wryly, mostly because Courfeyrac has always insisted that the bunches of daffodils he always ends up getting every year during Daffodil Day isn’t the point. 

“No,” Courfeyrac says, and then makes a face. “Well, yes, but also no. You should give them to Grantaire instead!”

Combeferre’s smile dims a little, and Courfeyrac remembers that Combeferre is trying to pace this out, and that for all he’s so _Combeferre_ , this thing will Grantaire is going to be his first foray into relationships, and of course he’s going to be a little shy about it. 

He backtracks immediately. 

“But maybe some other time, because you’ve given them to me now, and I’m already attached to them.” He nudges Combeferre’s foot with his. “Thank you for the flowers,” he says. “They’re really nice flowers, and it’s the loveliest thing that you thought of me when you saw them. This is why you’re my favourite person in the world.”

Combeferre smiles warmly at him, and then looks away from Courfeyrac to reach into his bag to pull out a huge tomb. “Straight through till dinner?” he asks. 

Courfeyrac nods. “Whoever clears their mess on the table first at the end of this gets to pick where to have dinner?” 

Combeferre glances at Courfeyrac’s notes and books splayed out across three seats, and says, “You’re on.”

—

Eponine starts laughing the moment Courfeyrac walks through the door, and doesn’t stop laughing even when Courfeyrac makes his way to the counter to slide a fiver over to her to pay for his usual coffee order. 

“Did I do something?” Courfeyrac asks, and then scowls. “Did Bahorel draw something on my face again?” When Eponine just keeps cackling, he pulls his phone out from his back pocket to check for drawings of dicks on his face. He finds none. “No, seriously, what are you laughing at?”

Eponine doubles over and when Courfeyrac leans over the counter to look, she’s wiping tears off her face with her apron. 

“What did I _do_?” Courfeyrac asks, when Eponine is more composed.

Eponine just takes one look at him and starts giggling again. She rings the call bell on the counter, and Feuilly comes out from the back.

He takes one look at Eponine, and then turns over to sigh at Courfeyrac. “What did you do to her?” he asks, as he takes over ringing Courfeyrac’s order up, and passing his change over, before he moves quickly to the coffee machines.

“Nothing!” Courfeyrac says, and glares at Eponine, who is has moved on from merely laughing, and is now doing it through hiccoughs. 

“You thought I was dating Combeferre!” Eponine manages to wheeze out. 

Feuilly snorts. 

“It wasn’t such a wild guess,” Courfeyrac mutters, and drops his change into the tip jar.

“It really was,” Eponine says. 

“It’s not my fault,” Courfeyrac says. “He never told me about the crush.”

Feuilly arches his eyebrow at that. “Did he finally tell you?” Feuilly asks, lips stretching out in a wide grin. “That’s great! I’ve only been waiting for it to happen for forever now.”

“I know!” Courfeyrac says. “I don’t know why he would keep it from me, to be honest. I mean, it’s not like I don’t already think Grantaire is great. Combeferre should’ve known that I would be all for it.”

Feuilly stares at him. “Say again?” he asks.

Eponine’s grin is wide and frankly a little terrifying. “Combeferre’s told Courfeyrac all about his crush on Grantaire now.”

Feuilly blinks. “I see,” he says, his voice sounding a little strangled.

A beat goes by. 

Eponine and Feuilly exchange looks, and then both burst out laughing. 

Courfeyrac sighs. It’s obvious that he’s not going to get his coffee today.

—

He checks his watch. It’s five minutes till the meeting, and Combeferre, who usually arrives at least half an hour before each meeting, isn’t here yet. 

Courfeyrac frowns and fishes his phone out from his pocket to make a move to text Combeferre to ask if he’s okay. 

He’s just sent the text when he hears the telltale _ping_ of a received message, and looks up. 

He blinks, mouth going unusually dry. 

Because Combeferre has ditched the shirt and cardigan combo he usually favours, and has gone for skin-tight skinny jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt that is at least two sizes too small, stretching tightly over his shoulders.

He’s always known that objectively speaking, Combeferre is really attractive; he’s just never had any reason to really look at Combeferre like this though. And what a shame that is, because now that he’s actively looking, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that Combeferre is _hot_. Very, very, _very_ hot. 

From beside him, Bahorel lets out a wolf-whistle, which alerts everyone to Combeferre’s arrival and his outfit. 

From the corner of his eye, Courfeyrac catches Grantaire smirking at Combeferre, eyes lingering over the bulge of Combeferre’s biceps. His chest tightens inexplicably, and he chalks it down to heartburn.

Combeferre looks embarrassed when he takes his usual seat beside Courfeyrac. 

“Nice outfit,” Courfeyrac says, and his voice comes out weird, raspier than it normally is. He clears his throat. “You look good.”

Combeferre glances up at him, and his smile looks very shy when he says, “You think so?”

Courfeyrac nods, because it’s hard to imagine that Combeferre doesn’t know that he looks like sin right now. “Yeah,” he says. “God, Grantaire is never going to be able say no to you if you as him out looking like this.”

Combeferre looks away, and sighs. “It was Eponine’s idea,” he tells Courfeyrac. “I’m not so sure it’s such a good one anymore.”

Courfeyrac lets out a noise of protest at that. “It’s a good idea,” he assures Combeferre. “It’s the best idea. Even I kind of want to jump you.”

That startles a reaction out of Combeferre. “You do?” he asks, soft.

Courfeyrac is really not lying when he nods, and he should probably have a think about why that is, but for now, he focuses on the way that brightens up Combeferre’s smile, and tries to think of ways to help Combeferre and Grantaire start a conversation with each other at the end of the meeting. 

If his heartburn suddenly worsens at that thought, well, it’s fucking heartburn, and things like that always have the worst timing. 

—

_Combeferre smiles at him, warm and happy. “Good morning,” he says softly, and reaches out to the bedside table for his glasses._

_Courfeyrac stops him with a hand to his arm, rolling on top of Combeferre in the same move. “Good morning,” he says, and then kisses Combeferre._

_Combeferre’s fingers dig into Courfeyrac’s waist, and his stubble rubs against Courfeyrac’s cheek when Courfeyrac turns to nip at Combeferre’s earlobe. “I love you,” he murmurs in Combeferre’s ear._

_Combeferre rolls them over, so he’s braced above Courfeyrac. “I love you too,” he tells Courfeyrac, and then presses his lips to Courfeyrac’s chest, mouthing kisses as he moves down, lower, and lower, right till—_

Courfeyrac jerks awake, erection tenting his pyjamas pants. 

“Fuck,” he whispers into the dark, a thought forming in his head. 

He runs through all his interactions with Combeferre, thinks about how he’s never felt as comfortable with anyone —even Enjolras— as he does with Combeferre, thinks about the way his thoughts often seem to drift off to Combeferre when he daydreams, thinks about how natural it is for them to walk down the street hand-in-hand. 

He reexamines the sour feeling in his chest earlier that day when he caught Grantaire giving Combeferre a very thorough once-over. With the benefit of hindsight, he understands now that he’s misdiagnosed his jealousy as _heartburn_.

“Fuck,” he says, louder this time, and the more he thinks about it, the more he feels that he should want to burst out laughing. The man that he’s possibly been in love for his whole life loves someone else. It’s _funny_ , and he should be laughing, but his heart is racing, his breath is coming too fast, his palms are sweating, and his eyes are stinging, hot with tears, because _the man he’s in love with loves someone else_. 

“Fuck,” he says again. 

He pulls his duvet over his head, and wonders how hard it would be for him to try to suffocate himself with it.

—

It all comes to a head when he goes over to Combeferre’s apartment for dinner a week of pining —and doing his best to avoid Combeferre without seeming like he’s avoiding Combeferre— later. 

“ _Is this a test-run for when you ask Grantaire out later?_ ” he’d asked Combeferre when Combeferre offered to cook for him, just to remind himself that Combeferre likes _Grantaire_ , and that he should keep his own feelings to himself, and Combeferre had rubbed at the back of his neck and said that it was something like that.

Dinner goes well, although Courfeyrac isn’t really surprised, because everything goes well when he’s with Combeferre. Whether that’s because they’ve just gotten so used to being around each other and dealing with each other’s eccentricities, or if it’s just because Courfeyrac just apparently thinks that everything is amazing when he’s with Combeferre, it doesn’t really matter.

The point is, when they finish dinner, Courfeyrac moves to start on the dishes, and Combeferre doesn’t even argue, and just starts drying them next to Courfeyrac, and this quiet domesticity one of his favourite things about them, Courfeyrac thinks. It occurs to him that they’ve both been a bit less chatty tonight, but the silence between them is a comfortable one, and Courfeyrac barely gets to enjoy much quiet since he’s sharing an apartment with Marius, so he just does the dishes in silence, and listens to Combeferre hum something classical.

“So,” Combeferre says, a little while later, “there is probably something I should tell you.”

Courfeyrac passes him a pan, which is the last of the dishes. “Yeah?” he prompts.

Combeferre sighs. “It’s-” He huffs out a laugh. “I really hope it’s not going to come as a surprise, I’ve done as much as I can to make sure it won’t surprise you, but the odds are that it still will.” 

He sets the pan down and takes one step closer to Courfeyrac. Then slowly, he reaches out to take Courfeyrac’s hands in his. 

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says, and he’s so much closer now, so close that Courfeyrac could probably just lean in to kiss him, but he’s frozen in place, and he has no fucking idea what is going on. Combeferre’s breaths are short, and his eyes are dark, and Courfeyrac waits for him to say something, anything, because he’s never had good impulse control, and if Combeferre just keeps being here, _like this_ , Courfeyrac can’t be held for what he’s about to do, but when Combeferre finally does speak again, it’s only a breathy, “ _Courf_.”

Courfeyrac kisses Combeferre. 

Combeferre presses closer without hesitation, arms going around Courfeyrac, fingers tangling into his hair. And Courfeyrac’s had a lot of time to think about it the past week, and he’s always imagined that Combeferre would kiss like this — fierce and deep and passionate, and a giddy sort of excitement goes through Courfeyrac. 

He expresses it in the form of a moan, and it makes Combeferre gasp into his mouth, and back him up to the counter, tongue sliding across Courfeyrac’s. 

“Courf, oh fuck, _Courfeyrac_ ,” Combeferre’s forehead is pressed against his shoulder, and it’s the slight reprieve from Combeferre’s very tempting mouth that brings clarity to Courfeyrac. 

He jerks back. “Oh fuck,” he swears. “But Grantaire-” he starts, but then Combeferre is rolling his eyes, and looking fondly exasperated.

He frames Courfeyrac’s face in his hands. “Courf, I’m going to let you in on a secret,” he says gravely. He ruins his serious demeanour by kissing the tip of Courfeyrac’s nose, as if he can’t help himself, and then says, “This has never been about Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac blinks at that, all the pieces of the puzzle slotting together to form the most perfect picture. 

“Oh,” he says, stunned, even though Combeferre is right in saying that he shouldn’t be. 

“Oh,” Combeferre agrees, and then kisses the corners of his lips. 

Courfeyrac’s lips stretch slowly into a wide grin. “I was jealous,” he tells Combeferre. “Of Eponine first, and then Grantaire. I didn’t realise at first that I felt the same way about you-”

Combeferre’s eyes light up. “You do?”

“ _God_ ,” Courfeyrac says, and then tugs Combeferre in for another kiss, sliding his hands up under Combeferre’s shirt. 

There will be plenty of time to talk it out with Combeferre, and he really does want to know why Combeferre didn’t just _tell him_ in the first place, but there are more important things that require his attention now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here on Tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi! :D
> 
> Title's from George Ezra's "Listen To The Man". :)


End file.
